


The cold and clean

by dwellingondreams



Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, F/M, Fishing, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Nate Knows What He's About, Nature, One Shot, Romantic Fluff, Tina Ships It, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:42:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26889829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dwellingondreams/pseuds/dwellingondreams
Summary: "Those fishing lures thrown in the cold and clean/Blood of Christ mountain stream." - Iron & Wine, 'Flightless Bird, American Mouth'."I was… well, I was actually wondering if you-,” she can’t pause now or she’ll never get this out-, “...if you might want to go fishing with me this weekend?”A long, long pause. After a moment, he replies, somewhat incredulously. “You… want to go fishing?”(In which the Detective and her favorite vampire find out what's on the end of their lines.)
Relationships: Female Detective/Nathaniel "Nate" Sewell
Comments: 14
Kudos: 29





	The cold and clean

**Author's Note:**

> If you're really confused because this is not in one of my 'usual' fandoms, I encourage you to check out the Choice of Game "The Wayhaven Chronicles" of which Books 1 and 2 (and a demo for Book 3) are already out. This takes place between the first and second book.
> 
> Nate wears his long flowing hair in a man bun and no you can't convince me otherwise. Holly is 5'5", Nate is 6'4", he has to be sitting down or it's just not fair. Used the 'fish' prompt from this year's Inktober.

She’s almost convinced herself this was a stupid idea on the third ring, but then he picks up. 

“Holly?” He pauses- she can hear muffled voices in the background, then the sound of a door closing, as if he’s stepped into another room, away from the rest of the team. Farah’s probably having a laugh over that, she reflects ruefully, before he asks, “Are you feeling alright?”

Although he can’t see her expression over the phone, she frowns. This was a stupid idea. She’s been out of the hospital and back on the job for a little over a week- of course he thinks she’s calling about something to do with her injuries. She feels fine, though. Unconsciously, she traces the raised scars of the bite mark on her left forearm. The wound’s been sealed shut, and the scarring isn’t as bad as she’d worried it might be, but she still gets phantom pains at night. She should stop fretting over it. This is normal. She’s been through something traumatic. Two weeks ago, she was just getting cleared to leave her hospital bed.

“Holly?” he presses, voice still level, but concerned. “Are you there?”

Holly exhales, then says, quickly, “Yes. I am. Sorry- I just- lost my train of thought,” she finishes, clumsily, she thinks scowling at her reflection in her cheap bathroom mirror. She only ever seems to trip over her words around Nate, which is incredibly frustrating when he’s the one person she feels like she can even, well, confide in lately. She knows it’s ridiculous. She’s only known him a little over two months, if that. She shouldn’t feel this degree of attachment to someone who is, for all intents and purposes, a colleague-

A colleague who just so happened to save your life. Twice, the voice that sounds like an unholy combination of Farah’s smug satisfaction and Morgan’s gruff bluntness reminds her.

“That’s perfectly understandable,” she can hear him exhaling in amusement. “No, it’s good to hear from you, I… well, we’ve all been worried.”

“Morgan’s been worried about me?” Holly asks doubtfully. She wouldn’t call them friends, exactly. Well- she respects Morgan, the same way she respects Adam, but while she and Adam consistently clash- both too rigid, stubborn, set in their ways- she and Morgan tend to, well… repel each other. They’ve had their moments, she supposes. Few and far between. But it’s Nate and Farah who she’s closer to. Farah because her needling is charming in its way, as well as her wide-eyed appreciation for… the _human world_ , she supposes she’d call it, and Nate because-

“She might not show it in the most… communicative way,” Nate ventures, “but I know she cares. In her way. As we all do.” He’s always couching his language like that. _As we all do. Everyone does. We missed you. We were getting worried. We wanted to know if-_

No, that’s not fair. She can’t accuse Nate of being too diplomatic, too cautious, can she? This is foreign territory, for both of them. Holly’s not blind and she’s not a child, you’d have to be dense to ignore the… draw between the two of them, whatever you want to call the force that consistently pulls them closer to each other, a perpetual orbit. But that doesn’t mean they should be rushing into anything. The odd comment or sidelong stare here and there is one thing. Acting on those feelings, is, well- she’s probably reading into it, as usual. He’s kind and sweet and intrigued by her, that’s clear, but he’s also had incredibly limited contact with humans in anything less than a professional capacity. How much of it has to do with her, and how much of it has to do with the fact that she’s the first human he’s spent any serious length of time around in years? Decades, maybe. Or centuries. She swallows.

“Well, I’m doing okay. Just glad to be back home. And I had loads of personal time saved, so… so I was thinking of taking a three day weekend.” There. She said it. Now she has to actually do it. Make the plunge. Tina’s always on her case to be more impulsive, embrace the moment. Holly’s life has been carefully planned ever since she moved back home after uni and decided to join the force instead of pursuing her master’s. That’s shot to hell now- she might be a detective, the youngest in this town’s history, most likely, but nothing else has gone according to plan since the Greenland murder, and it doesn’t look like things will be returning to her old normal anytime soon. It’s not that she’s grieving it, not really, but it does make her a little nervous, wary. 

“That sounds like an excellent idea,” he says, and she wonders if he’s sat down, because his voice has changed slightly, more relaxed, as if he were leaning back in his seat. She doubts he’d slouch like a teenager the way Morgan does, or sit oddly, cross-legged or with his legs tucked up under him as Farah always seems to- but Morgan and Farah are both very petite, compared to him. For a moment she thinks of his long legs stretched out from his seat, and him holding the phone between one ear and his tawny neck, but that’s ridiculous. Nate always holds phones very delicately, as if he’s afraid he might break them, or lose them. She’s never seen him text, but she wouldn’t be surprised if it took him a while to type one out. 

She smiles to herself, secretive and small, and moves into her tiny gallery kitchen as she replies, more warmly, “I think so. I was… well, I was actually wondering if you-,” she can’t pause now or she’ll never get this out-, “...if you might want to go fishing with me this weekend?”

A long, long pause. After a moment, he replies, somewhat incredulously. “You… want to go fishing?”

Holly feels her cheeks heat up. “I know it’s- it’s probably a bit weird, but- well, I used to go with my granddad as a kid, and it’s been a while, but my mum and I last went a few years ago, so… I still have the rods and stuff, and I was just- well, anyways. I know it’s a very strange thing to ask, so you don’t have to-,”

“Holly,” he says, clearly and firmly. “I’d very much like to go fishing with you.”

Her heart stutters in her chest, and she can’t help the smile that breaks out across her face. “Really? We’d have to get up very early-,”

“I’m an early riser,” he says, far too smoothly. Right. Vampires. Barely need to sleep. Keep it straight, Holly. 

“Well, it’s a bit of a drive-,”

“I trust your driving.” That is high praise coming from Nate, actually, because he’s a bit like an old man in the backseat of the car. Luckily he doesn’t give advice, but that’s because he genuinely has little concept of any of the rules of the road, and mostly just looks quietly distressed, like a dog who’s just realized he’s being taken to the vet. Only with less panting, she supposes.

“And it’s going to be pretty cold, what with the weather lately, so-,”

“I’ll dress warmly,” he replies, as patient as ever.

“Okay.” She blinks, shocked they got to this point, shocked he agreed. “So… I’ll pick you up at five? In the morning? Saturday?”

“Five?” He stretches it out almost like a yawn.

“Well, if that’s too early, we can do six-,”

“I’m teasing,” he says, gently, and she feels a prickle of pleasant goosebumps break out along the back of her neck and arms.

“Oh. Good. Well- see you then!” She hangs up in a flustered hurry, afraid one more reply will revert her to the state of a hyperventilating tween girl at her first concert. 

She paces around her barren flat, bare feet slapping against the tile flooring, trying to work out the excess anxious energy. Right. She’s doing this. She is… taking a vampire fishing. Does he eat fish? He can eat, she’s seen him devour plenty of blueberry muffins from Haley’s Bakery, but it’s not like they’re really fishing for sustenance, it’s more so a mindset type of thing- ugh, she sounds like her grandfather. And she misses her grandfather. He passed away when she was twenty. He was the closest thing she ever had to a father, not having any memories of Rook. 

Dad, she reminds herself. He was your dad. But he has always been ‘Rook’ or ‘your father’ when it comes to Mum, so there’s that. The consequences of a neatly compartmentalized life. It is sometimes difficult for her mother to switch over from a field agent giving a report to her superiors, to a woman who… well, married her first and only true love and had a child with him, only to have it torn away. She wonders if he liked to fish, her dad. Then she pushes the thought away and calls Tina. She needs advice.

“Oh my god, he’s the hottest one!” Tina squeals on the other end of the line, as Holly juggles pots and pans on the stove, cooking her dinner. 

“Tina,” she groans under her breath. “Can we focus, please?”

“I am! On his dashing good looks! God, he’s so... “ Tina trails off into a sound suspiciously like a sigh. Or a moan. Then collects herself. “So what are you wearing? I know you’ve got a plan. Remember that party during the holidays, right after you broke up with Bobby, and you wore that little black dress-,”

“For the hundredth time,” Holly says, smelling the chicken she’s preparing, and adding more seasoning, “I did not wear that dress specifically to get back at Bobby.”

“You one hundred percent did,” Tina replies, unimpressed. “And it was so worth it to watch the little shit squirm when every bloke within line of sight was coming over to you. Any way you can adapt that outfit for a fishing trip? Maybe throw on a vest-,”

Holly sighs, loudly. “It’s not a date.”

“But you want it to be a date. It’s a step _towards_ a date.”

“Tina, we haven’t even-,”

“He hasn’t _kissed_ you yet?” Tina blurts out, outraged. “What the hell is wrong with him? You’ve been giving him the Eyes left and right.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Holly says, switching the phone to her other shoulder. “We were hunting down a serial killer, Tina, I didn’t really have the time to be… leering at him or whatever you’re-,”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. The patented, lab-tested, 9/10 dentist approved Lin Smolder,” Tina adopts what she probably thinks is a sultry tone. “ _Hey there, you big, beautiful, hunk of a man-_ ,”

“Tina,” Holly says, through helpless giggles; she has to step away from the stove. “Seriously. There’s not… well, we’re close. Or, we’re getting close, I just- obviously I don’t want to push anything, and it’s probably not appropriate anyways, since we’re going to be working together-,”

“Ah,” Tina replies breezily, “the melodious sounds of excuses. Cut the crap, Holls. You want my advice?”

“Maybe?” Holly says doubtfully.

“Yeah, you do. Wear a nice sweater, a practical jacket, and a cute hat. And please don’t wear those boots you got last year just to impress him, you’ll fall off the dock and drown.”

“Right,” Holly rolls her eyes. “I was _totally_ planning on wearing the knee-high heeled black leather boots on a fishing trip. Thanks for saving me the trouble-,”

“You’re welcome!” Tina trills, and hangs up on her.

5 AM dawns perilously early, but at least it’s not so bad when she’s not getting up for work. She admittedly spends longer getting ready than she ever did for a fishing trip with Granddad, but it’s worth it to not have visible dark shadows or bags under her eyes, and for her skin to look bright and clear despite her diet being less than stellar these past few weeks. Stress eating, probably. As it turns out, surviving a kidnapping will do that to you. When she first came home from the hospital, she was shocked at the gaunt shell of a woman staring blearily back at her through her mirror. She never wants to be that woman again. 

She dresses swiftly and hurries out, keys in hand, and ignores the occasional protesting whine of her little car’s engine as she drives out to the warehouse. Nate, is, of course, already waiting for her; she hasn’t seen him in a few days and feels that same nervous thrill watching him emerge from the heavy fog. He clambers into the passenger seat, carefully arranging his long limbs, and smiles broadly at her. “Good morning, Holly.”

“Good morning,” she says, and know she’s flushing from the amused look in his bright brown eyes. He has such beautiful eyes; molten, almost. They bring out the rich tones of his hair and skin. “I wish we could stop at the bakery, but Haley’s still prepping, probably. But I brought you this,” she passes him a thermos. “It’s black tea,” she adds, hopefully. 

He smells it, smiling even wider. “Thank you. It smells wonderful.”

The drive is quiet but peaceful. The roads are deserted this early on the weekend, and she gets to watch the sun come up through the fog and mist and their forested surroundings. Nate is content to sit quietly in the passenger seat, occasionally craning his neck to peer out the fogged up window, and humming along appreciatively when she turns on the radio, keeping it on a very low level volume, mindful of his heightened hearing. 

“Have you made this drive very often?” he asks, as she turns off the highway and onto a more hilly, winding road, up into the mountains.

“Not in a while,” Holly admits. “The last time I went was with a few friends from the academy, but since my promotion…”

“I don’t expect you have all that much free time,” he finishes the thought for her. “Well, for what it’s worth… I’m honored you decided to bring me along with you for this occasion.” With anyone else, it would sound sarcastic or even snide, but this is Nate, and she knows he’s completely serious. That’s part of what she- well, what draws her to him. Nate always say what he means. He doesn’t play games, doesn’t like to toy with people, even when it’d be so easy for him too, oozing with charisma as he is. 

“To be honest,” she says, as she turns onto a dirt road, “I… well, I did want some company. Plus, Adam would probably lose his mind if he found out I went off into the woods by myself to go fishing.”

“That… is an accurate assessment,” he chuckles under his breath. “He’d have had one of us tail you.”

“A vampire watching me from the treeline while I fish,” she muses, “maybe not the most reassuring thought… although if it was Farah, she wouldn’t be able to help herself- she’d have to jump in. And Morgan would be able to smell it from wherever she was hiding,” she grins as the lake comes into view.

It’s small, but pristine, aside from the occasional littering. There haven’t been any parties up here lately- too cold, but she knows she’ll be getting calls to complain about the teenagers all summer long. Oddly enough, she’s almost looking forward to it. It’ll be nice to regain some sense of normalcy. And clearing out some teens is vastly preferable to inspecting corpses. 

“It’s beautiful,” Nate says, sounding genuinely impressed with the landscape. “Really, Holly.”

“Thanks,” she says, awkwardly, as if she were somehow responsible for this. “I think so too. Ready, then?”

Once she’s parked, Nate helps her unpack the gear from the car. Holly hands him one rod, smiling a little in spite of her nerves, and takes out the bait. 

“Those are real worms,” Nate says, sounding surprised, and a little reluctant.

“They are,” she says, and can’t resist. “Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

He scoffs, sounding almost like Adam for a moment. “I’m not scared of worms, I just don’t particularly- and the worm is in my hand,” he reflects, as she fights back a giggle. 

“That it is. Here, watch me hook it-,”

After some trial and error, they get it done, and he helps her lug the chairs over to the rickety old dock. “We can always stand, but I’m also… still very tired,” she admits, stifling a yawn. 

He looks oddly charmed by it, smiling down at her as he sets one of the folding chairs down. The breeze is ruffling at his brown hair, pulled back from his face in a bun, and the faint spring sunshine reflecting off the dark water is glowing in his deep brown eyes. 

She sits down, burrowing into her heavy coat and sweater, and he does likewise, mimicking her movements, and watching her cast her line, brow furrowed in concentration. Naturally, he succeeds on the very first try. 

“Nice,” she compliments, and is pleasantly pleased when he flushes. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that he isn’t- well, human. He eats and sleeps, albeit far less than most people. He’s warm to the touch, not cold. He sounds and moves like a man in his late twenties, or very early thirties, not… well, not however old he actually is. She thought she’d be more curious, desperate to know all the details, but… What bearing does it have on him right here, right now? Right now he is Nate, and she is Holly, and they are fishing. That’s the beauty of it, right?

“I can understand the appeal,” he reflects after a few minutes of contemplative silence, listening to the water and distance birdsong and bullfrogs. “It’s certainly very… calming. I don’t have much time alone, usually, except in my bedroom, and I don’t like to shut myself up like that too often. The others… well, we’re better when we’re together,” he reflects.

“You’re a family,” Holly comments. It feels odd to say aloud, but it’s true. They are a family, like brothers and sisters, even if they come from very different places. Farah might be the only one who will refer to them as such, but it’s obvious that Nate and Adam consider each other as good as brothers, from their easy camaraderie and silent conversations, their little looks and nods of understanding. She always wondered what it’d be like to have a sibling, someone she could rely on like that. She had friends growing up, of course, but it’s not the same.

As if he’d read her mind, Nate says, quietly, “Well, I hope you’re starting to consider yourself part of that family. I know… I know it was a _rocky_ beginning, but… I hope you know how much the others care for you. How… how fond they are of you. And- and I include myself in that, of course.”

Holly glances over at him, a smile playing on her lips. “You’re very fond of me, then?” She hadn’t thought she’d be this bold, now that they finally have the time and privacy, but here she is, throwing caution to the wind.

His smile deepens. “You could say that.”

Something tugs on her line, and she starts. Holly scoots forward in her seat, beginning to quickly reel it in, conscious of how riveted Nate seems by the entire process. Her line emerges from the water… with a clump of lake weeds hooked onto it. She groans aloud, and he chuckles. 

“It’s not funny!” she can’t help but complain, like the little girl she used to be, wrapped up in a blanket with her hot chocolate, sitting beside her granddad. 

“It’s a little funny,” Nate concedes, although he sets down his rod to help her untangle the weeds. Their wet hands touch, and he stills, as he always does when they’re in physical contact, no matter how brief. 

Holly looks up at him again, how the sunlight brings out the hints of bronze in his brown hair, then turns away so she can cast her line again, but slips on the wet patch the dripping weeds created on the slick, ancient dock. She gasps involuntarily, wavering to keep her balance, before an arm loops around her waist, steadying her. She leans back into it almost unconsciously. It wasn’t so long ago that she was fleeing from Murphy, and all but stumbled into his relieved embrace, after all. 

“Careful,” he says, turning with her to steady her. Their warm breath mingles in the cold air. 

“Trying,” she replies, then adds, softly, “Thank you.”

“Of course.” He lets go of her waist, ever the gentleman. Holly casts her line again, successfully this time, and sits back down with him.

“Did you spend a lot of time with your grandfather as a child?” he asks after another minute or two of comfortable silence. “You seem to have good memories of him.”

“Well, my mum was always off on… work trips, she’d call them,” Holly admits, “so he took care of me, most of the time, until I was old enough to stay home by himself. And I was his only grandchild, so were close.”

“That’s nice,” Nate says, smiling slightly. “He must have loved you a lot.”

“He did.” She swallows around the sudden lump in your throat. “I miss him.”

He sobers. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, he’d just be glad to know I’m not letting these rods collect dust. And I think you two would get along,” she adds. 

Nate looks curious. “Why’s that?”

“Well, you have similar opinions on technology…”

He winces, although there’s a hint of a smirk behind it. “Low blow, Detective.”

“Holly,” she corrects, though she knows he was teasing. 

He leans a little closer to her, and echoes her. “ _Holly_.”

Her lips tentatively brush his cheek, a sweet, brief gesture, and then she’s looking away again, very red. He seems stunned for an instant, and then takes her hand. She looks at him out of the corner of her eye. 

“May I return the favor?” he asks, so sweetly there is no chance of her saying no, even if she wanted to.

She turns back to him. He kisses one cheek, then pulls back, scrutinizing, like an artist examining his painting, and kisses the other. His lips are warm and tingle on her cold skin. 

“You smell like tea and lakewater,” she says. 

“Is that a bad thing? You smell…” he trails off, and she knows he’s not just talking about their surroundings. “You smell like you always do.”

She nods. “My blood, I know. The mutation.”

“No, it’s not just that. You… you have your own smell,” he seems to be struggling to put it into words. “It’s crisp and clean, and… and sweet in its way, like right after the rainfall in spring. And you smell like coffee beans when you’re in your office, lemons when you’re at home.”

“It’s my shampoo,” she wants to laugh, but can’t quite at how serious he is. 

“It’s wonderful.”

“You think everything is wonderful,” she ducks her head a little, bashful now.

“Not everything,” he counters. “Just… almost always you.”

She’s about to kiss him again, on the lips this time, when he jumps a little. “My line-,”

“Reel it in!” she urges, setting down her rod and all but leaning on him as he does so. He’s deft with his hands, and she breaks into a beaming smile when he comes up with a small freshwater fish, wriggling on his line. “You did it! Wow, I think that’s the fastest I’ve ever seen anyone- Nate!”

In a few swift movements, he’s carefully freed the squirming fish and released it back into the lake. He turns back to her, sheepish. “I know it sounds foolish, since I will eat fish, but- I hate to see them suffer, even if it’s only for a short while.”

Holly exhales, then, shaking her head a little, takes his hand as they sit back down. “Okay, but when I get one, don’t go freeing it before I take a picture, alright? I need proof for Tina-,”

“That we came up here to fish? And not for… _other_ reasons?”

The smile is tugging at her lips like the fish was tugging on his line. “Nathaniel Sewell. That was pretty brazen, you know.”

“I’m sorry.” For once, she can tell he’s lying through his teeth. He squeezes her hand, gently, preciously, as if it is the most delicate thing he’s ever held.

She sighs and sets down her rod. “I guess you leave me no choice.”

“No choice for what?” Now he sounds genuinely curious.

She eyes his chair, then gestures. “Scoot over.”

“I can’t,” he’s grinning, “I’m too comfortable.”

“Fine.” She sits down in his lap, and he sharply intakes a breath, and she’s about to jump right back up, abashed, when he slots his arms around her as if they’ve done this a hundred times before. 

“This seems… much more brazen.”

“Well, you were going to keep distracting me so you could catch more fish. I figured out your plan right off the bat, you know. I _am_ a detective,” she leans back against his chest. This can’t be any more intimate than bleeding out in his arms in the rain, can it? Somehow it still feels like it, though. 

“Curses,” he murmurs, breath warm against her ear. “Foiled again by the wily Detective Lin.”

“Yep.” She holds the rod with him. “Okay. On my count we cast. One, two-,”

They never quite get to three, because he’s kissing her, and the fish are thanking their lucky stars, and she’s tasting black tea and honey and cinnamon, and when they break apart, even the close cry of a bullfrog isn’t enough to get her to look away from him. 

“Damn it,” she says. “What did I just say about distractions, Agent Sewell?”

“I don’t know,” he muses, “that felt more like a… collaboration, if you ask me.”

The fish, she decides, are certainly very lucky this morning.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr at [dwellordream](https://dwellordream.tumblr.com/) where I unfortunately mostly post about ASOIAF and HP. I am always open to prompts, though.


End file.
